


Gelid Feint

by geekymoviemom



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Family, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Non-Graphic Descriptions of Torture, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers whump, Superfamily (Marvel), Superhusbands (Marvel), mentions of period-typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28155312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekymoviemom/pseuds/geekymoviemom
Summary: Gelid: icy; extremely coldFeint: a deceptive or pretended blowSteve Rogers’ world had completely changed since he was discovered in the Arctic Ice.  Not only had he led a team of actual superheroes to defend New York against an alien invasion, he had also found love, and the family he’d never dared to dream he could have.So when Nick Fury asked Steve on a simple mission to retrieve materials from a hidden bunker, Steve thought nothing of it.Until the demons he’d thought he had buried within the Red Skull’s airplane suddenly reappeared, and he was forced to face the one enemy he’d thought he had vanquished.He had cut off one head, but now two more had taken its place.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 34
Kudos: 158
Collections: 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parkrstark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkrstark/gifts).



> My dear parkrstark, I hope you enjoy this canon-divergent superfamily fic! I had so much fun writing this for you! 💗
> 
> A huge thank-you to my awesome betas, allthesinnersandthesaints and She’sLikeTexas! 💗

“Look, honey, all I’m saying is that I could be out there in only a few hours,” Tony said to the phone screen clutched in his hand. “Then you'd at least have some decent company on this goddamn wild-goose chase Fury’s sending you on. And with no backup, by the way.”

Steve smiled, showing off his dimple and sending a burst of warmth spreading across Tony’s chest. Even after almost a year together— _an entire year!—_ he still hadn’t quite grown used to those million-watt, dimple-inducing smiles being directed at him.

At _him_ , of all people.

Oh, Steve always saved plenty for Peter as well, who Tony was convinced Steve couldn't adore more if he had been his own child, but Tony had seen enough of Steve’s smiles during their months of dating to have discerned the tiny differences in those that he reserved just for him.

Because Steve Rogers, aka Captain America himself, had somehow seen it fit to fall in love with Tony, a sentiment he had shared only a few months after Tony’s fateful flight through Loki’s portal, carrying the missile intended to wipe out the citizens of Manhattan during the Battle of New York. After releasing that missile straight into the aliens’ mothership, Tony had fallen unconscious as he’d plummeted back to Earth, finally coming to in the middle of a debris-filled street.

And the first thing he had noticed—after the echoes of Hulk’s thundering roars had died down, at least—were the bright blue eyes of Steve Rogers staring down at him, glassy with tears as relief washed across his grime-covered, but still-gorgeous face.

The very same face that currently belonged to the man who was just about to jump out of yet another plane into yet another disputed-borders country because of yet another conflict that Nick Fury had felt that SHIELD needed to stick its nose into.

_Hmph._

“I’m pretty sure Director Fury doesn't share your sentiments, sweetheart,” Steve said as he fastened his cowl into place. “And I will have backup. The entire STRIKE team’s gonna be standing by, waiting for my signal.”

“Ah, a bunch of beefy, wanna-be NFL players high on their own testosterone,” Tony scoffed. “That entire gang wouldn’t know their heads from their asses unless you were there to remind ‘em.”

Steve chuckled. “Well… then, how ‘bout because Peter needs you at home? I know how much you don't like leaving him.”

Tony sighed. Steve did have a point. While Tony used to leave Peter behind semi-regularly when he travelled on business, ever since his decidedly _not_ -fun experience in Afghanistan and the fallout that had followed, he had been inclined to stick much closer to home.

“Ah, well, I could always see if Rhodey’s available to babysit,” Tony said. “Besides, the kid’s twelve already, honey. Well past the age of thinking that hanging out with Dad is still cool.”

Steve laughed, the melodic sound sending another blast of warmth through Tony’s body. “Well, based on what I’ve seen, I highly doubt that. But if it’s any consolation, I still like hanging out with you.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Tony said with a wink, just as the pilot came over the intercom on Steve’s plane, announcing that they were approaching the drop zone. Tony’s heart began to thud, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his expression neutral. This was the first time that Steve would be going on a mission without him, and Tony was nervous.

Plus, Tony just plain _missed_ him. Steve had only been gone for less than four hours, but it already seemed like days with how empty the penthouse felt, and Tony had never liked emptiness. While Steve still kept the Tower apartment he had moved into after the Battle of New York, Tony couldn't remember the last time he’d actually stayed there, preferring to spend his days—and nights—with Tony and Peter in the penthouse. Tony had even remodelled one of the spare bedrooms into an art studio for Steve’s recent birthday, and, with Peter’s encouragement, had been _this_ close to asking Steve to officially move in with them when Fury had contacted him with the mission.

A proposition that would now have to wait until Steve got back, in two to three weeks’ time.

“Looks like it’s time, sweetheart,” Steve said softly. “I’ll see you soon.”

Ignoring his thudding heart, Tony simply nodded. “Yep,” he said softly. “Be safe, yeah?”

“I will. I love you.”

The warmth that had been bubbling around inside Tony’s chest like a jacuzzi suddenly spiked, almost as if the arc reactor was overloading. Every time Steve said those words to him, it was as if Tony was hearing them for the very first time, complete with a replay of all of the shock, awe, and disbelief.

“I love you too, honey.” As the screen went blank, Tony pressed his palm over the arc reactor, his fingertips tracing along the chain that framed it. On the chain hung the dog tags Steve had presented to him after they spent their first night together, tags that Tony hadn't taken off since. He had known how much of a romantic Steve was pretty much from the get-go, when, after their first date, he informed Tony that he was going to demonstrate for Peter the proper way to court his “best guy”. But Tony had shed honest-to-goodness tears that morning when Steve presented him with his dog tags, set in the middle of a breakfast tray complete with two plates of perfectly scrambled eggs, two homemade bagels loaded with melted butter, and two perfect cups of coffee.

“It’s a custom for soldiers to give these to their sweethearts,” Steve had explained as he looped the ball chain over Tony’s neck, trailing his fingers down to where it framed the arc reactor. “Sort of as a promise that they’ll always return home to them.”

At first, Tony had been too stunned to speak, staring down at the metal tags that rested against his sternum directly below the arc reactor. He’d learned enough about military history during his years as a weapons’ manufacturer to know that a soldier presenting his dog tags to his gal—or fella, in Tony’s case—was only one or two steps shy of a marriage proposal, something that Tony had never—not even once—believed he’d ever experience.

“Steve,” he’d finally said, or more like barely whispered— _thank goodness for super soldier-enhanced hearing._ “Honey, I don't—I don't know if I’m—”

But Steve had shushed him with a gentle finger against his lips, followed by a soft kiss. “No,” he’d murmured. “I know what you're gonna say, and none of it’s true. You're it for me, sweetheart, and I’m gonna prove it to you. Whatever it takes.”

And ever since then, Steve had kept his word. In the ten or so months since their first date, Tony had lost count of the ways Steve had demonstrated his love and commitment not only to Tony, but to Peter as well. From offering Tony his arm and opening doors for him while out and about to picking up Peter at school and cooking him dinner when Tony had to work late, Steve had shown time and time again that this was no passing fancy for him. It was real.

Steve was in every way the quintessential 1940s gentleman, and while it had first thrown Tony for a pretty big loop, as he just wasn’t used to being so… _adored_ by a significant other, he had quickly learned to crave the attention that he got from his incredible boyfriend.

His boyfriend who was not only drop-dead gorgeous, but also hotter than hell. And for someone who before Tony had been even purer than the ice he’d been discovered in, Steve was also the most generous lover that Tony had ever been with, going out of his way to ensure that Tony never doubted just how cherished he was.

And now he was going to have to live without him for the next two—maybe three—weeks, a thought that brought an instant frown to Tony’s face as he set his phone down on the counter, eyeing it as if it had personally insulted him.

“JARVIS, what’s the rest of my day look like?” he asked as he scratched at the back of his head.

“You have a scheduled conference call with the Stark Industries Board of Directors in exactly sixteen minutes and twelve seconds,” answered JARVIS. “You then have a meeting scheduled with Miss Potts for 2pm, and a parent-teacher conference for Peter at school at 3:30pm. Oh, and the dry-cleaner is reporting that your suits are ready for pickup.”

“Yeah, gotcha.” Tony tilted his head, pondering. The last thing he felt like doing was dealing with the Board of Directors, who no doubt would spend the entire scheduled time whining about something or other, but since he’d already pushed off the meeting at least three times he was certain that Pepper would have his head if he attempted to do so again. May as well get it over with while he was already grumpy.

Huffing out a sharp breath, Tony exited the lab and padded into the kitchen. It was lunchtime, or somewhere thereabouts, and one thing that he’d promised Steve before he left was that he would try to eat regular meals while he was gone. Of course, to that end, Steve had made sure to stock the fridge and freezer with plenty of easy-to-make things, including more of the homemade bagels that Tony had come to love almost as much as the man himself. Retrieving one of the sesame seed variety out of the freezer, Tony popped it into the toaster, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee while the kitchen slowly filled with the scent of toasting deliciousness. After smearing each half with a generous portion of cream cheese, Tony carried his makeshift lunch back to the lab, where he quickly became engrossed in one of his newest suit designs as he ate, thankfully remembering to wipe the stray bits of cream cheese from the corners of his mouth just as JARVIS announced that the Board of Directors were on the line.

“Good afternoon, Mr Stark,” the bespectacled Chairman in the poorly-tailored suit said as he popped onto the screen. “So, what do you have for us today?”

“I am so glad you asked me that, Mr Chairman.” Tony smiled as he pulled up the specs of Stark Industries newest tablet design, one that Tony had no doubt would revolutionise the industry and cause far fewer casualties than any of the missiles he used to design.

“Allow me to introduce StarkTablet version five point one.”

* * *

Sweat beaded across Steve’s forehead as he hiked up a small incline on the road, if one could call the narrow, rocky, evergreen-lined path he was currently following an actual road. He grimaced as his foot slipped on a particularly icy spot, pausing to glance up at the position of the sun as he tried to estimate how much longer he had before he arrived at the coordinates given to him by Brock Rumlow, the leader of the STRIKE team. 

If he had known ahead of time that this mission was going to involve him trekking through freezing-cold mountainous terrain, he might’ve hesitated a bit before agreeing to Director Fury’s request. It was putting it mildly to say that Steve was not too fond of the cold, and while the uniform he was wearing—made by Tony’s own hands—was insulated well enough, the crystal-clear skies above him combined with the fact that it was already well below zero could only mean that after dark the temperatures would plummet, leaving it dangerously cold even for him.

All of which meant that Steve had better find the bunker he’d been sent to find soon, before it got dark. From what he could tell he was still about fifty kilometres away, and while he hoped he’d be able to make it there before dark, judging by the low position of the sun he would definitely be cutting it close. For a moment he wondered why the plane had chosen to drop him so far away from the structure, but quickly squashed it. He was already down, so that didn't really matter anymore, and based on the briefing materials he had been given on the flight, the entire wooded area that surrounded the bunker was rigged with landmines and other various traps that were left over from a failed coup—or was it annexation?—attempt about five years ago. Steve’s task was to navigate a path through the maze so that the STRIKE team could then move in and secure the bunker, gaining access to all of the supposedly classified materials hidden inside it.

It wasn’t too unlike the missions he had conducted during the war. The only difference this time was that there were no Howling Commandos to back him up.

Pursing his lips, Steve checked his compass—another gift from Tony—and adjusted his stance, leaning a bit more forward to hopefully keep from slipping again. His pace, although brisk, was still far slower than his usual due to the need to keep an eye out for traps, and as the sun began to dip further and further behind the tall, pointed trees, Steve found himself almost tiptoeing, crouched low behind his shield as he carefully took each measured step.

“Maybe I should’ve taken Tony up on his offer,” he muttered as he slowed to a stop behind a particularly bushy tree. He narrowed his eyes as he leaned closer, cocking his head as he heard what appeared to be a high-pitched, barely-discernible buzzing sound, well out of the hearing range of a non-enhanced person. Steve looked up at the top of the tree, not seeing anything that would indicate an explosive or other type of incendiary device, but unless the tree had been genetically altered to give off a noise, it definitely seemed to be booby-trapped.

“All right,” he murmured as he took three steps back, readying his shield. Without taking his eyes off the tree, Steve then launched the shield directly at it, immediately diving to the side as a burst of flame suddenly shot out from the trunk, engulfing the entirety of the rock-filled path.

“Well, that was fun,” he said once the flame had burned itself out, leaving the tree surprisingly unharmed. Getting to his feet, Steve brushed the bits of dirt and pine needles from his uniform as he studied the tree, committing its size and shape to one of his mind’s memory files so he could keep an eye out for more of them.

Of which, it turned out, there were many. So many, in fact, that Steve’s pace soon slowed to almost a crawl as he was forced to take out one of the fire-trees nearly every ten or so paces, reminding him way too much of that dystopian arena movie series he had watched with Peter not too long ago.

It wasn’t until he had taken out the tenth such tree that he realised that the sun had dipped completely beyond the horizon, leaving him alone in the dark with only the soft light from a crescent moon and his enhanced eyesight to guide him.

“Okay, this is not good,” he whispered as he took another careful step, his jaw tightly clenched to keep his teeth from chattering. Just as he’d feared, the loss of daylight had caused the outside temperature to drop like a rock, which meant he needed to find the bunker quickly, before he became hypothermic.

Sucking in a deep, lung-searing breath, Steve continued on, holding his shield at chest-height as he scanned his surroundings, listening intently for more of the telltale buzzing sounds. When no more appeared after a hundred metres or so, he checked his compass again, noting that he was still over ten kilometres away from the bunker’s location.

And, despite his insulated boots and gloves, he could no longer feel his fingers and toes.

Panic suddenly welled deep inside Steve’s gut, and he stopped, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to focus in on his breathing. He’d never heard of such a thing as a panic attack until just a few weeks ago when he’d been woken by a particularly bad dream, one that had him crashing the _Valkyrie_ over and over and over again. Despite being aware of exactly what was going to happen, he found that he couldn't seem to escape, could only watch in horror as the ice formed over his head, sealing him in. By the time Tony had been able to wake him, he could barely remember where he was, writhing and panting and covered in sweat, his lungs like frozen blocks of ice in his chest and his hands full of the tattered remains of the sheets.

And Tony, being the incredible man that he was, instead of berating Steve for waking him or tearing the hell out of his expensive designer sheets, had simply gathered Steve close, holding his head against his chest as he ran his fingers through his hair. Once Steve had felt able to release the iron grip on his limbs, Tony had led him into the bathroom, right into the hot bath that JARVIS had run for them. They’d ended up staying in the steaming water so long that Steve fell asleep, his back pressed up against Tony’s chest and his head resting against Tony’s neck, not waking until JARVIS announced that it was time for Peter to get to school.

Tony had never pushed Steve to talk about it afterwards, and Steve definitely hadn’t volunteered to do so. During the war, soldiers were called “chicken shits” for daring to express even the slightest amount of fear, and that combined with the permanent chip on Steve’s shoulder from when he’d been so small and sickly was not something he was prepared to let go of so easily.

Nor was he prepared to give in to his panic now. He was Captain America, for heaven’s sake. Not some frightened plebe soldier out on his very first mission.

He only had to pull himself together, and complete the mission.

The only question was, how? He couldn't remain where he was, that was obvious. He couldn't radio for help either. Rumlow had reminded Steve multiple times before he was dropped that the secrecy of the mission depended on Steve maintaining complete radio silence until he was safely inside the bunker.

Which meant that all he could do was keep going.

_Come on, come on, come on!_ he thought, gritting his teeth as he tried to psyche himself up. Peter had a big debate competition coming up in the next month, the first such competition Steve would get to watch him participate in. 

But only if he kept on moving.

_I have to keep moving. I have to keep moving._

_Keep on moving!_

Finally, drawing on his last vestiges of strength, Steve straightened his back, peeled his eyes open, and positioned his shield, forcing his feet to take one step, then another, securely planting his feet to avoid slipping on the now frost-covered path. It was agonisingly slow, made even more so by the fact that while Steve could no longer detect the high-pitched buzzing noise, the darkness seemed to have invited a whole slew of others, noises that Steve’s frozen ears were having difficulty in identifying. He could decipher a few different animals, carrion birds and some small, nocturnal predators that he knew wouldn’t bother him as long as he left them alone, but there was also another sound, one that as he paused again in an attempt to place, that seemed to be cutting right through the ambient noise of night. Chills raced down Steve’s spine as the dull, groaning noise grew louder and more rumbling, almost as though it was being broadcast from speakers hidden somewhere within the dense evergreens.

It was the exact same sound the _Valkyrie_ had made as it sank into the freezing Arctic water, back in 1945. A sound that despite Steve’s best efforts to purge from his mind, still managed to regularly find its way into his nightmares.

“No!” Steve gasped as he dropped to the ground, clamping his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to block out the horrific, bone-chilling sound. It wasn’t something that he’d ever spoken of out loud, but the thought of ever again being trapped like he was, of slowly being submerged into icy water, frightened him more than almost anything else.

Second only to the thought that Tony might reject Steve’s impending marriage proposal.

Steve had been planning the proposal for weeks, altering and fine-tuning certain details, and had nearly finalised everything in the days leading up to the mission. He was going to take both Tony and Peter out to dinner, somewhere nice but not too fancy so Peter didn't have to dress up. Then, once they were finished eating, he was going to first ask Peter if he would do him the honour of allowing Steve to formally adopt him. Steve had already contacted a lawyer and had all of the appropriate paperwork drawn up, so all he needed was Peter’s approval and they would be set. Tony had already given Steve the go-ahead to ask, and he was hopeful that since Peter had already taken to calling him ‘Papa’ that it would be an easy decision for him to want to make things official.

As long as that went okay, Steve was then going to get down on one knee and ask Tony to be his husband. He’d had the ring ready for weeks now, one that he had personally designed and commissioned from a jeweller recommended by JARVIS.

A ring that Steve was so afraid he might misplace—the fact that he had never misplaced anything was completely beside the point—that he currently had it on his person, hidden in the little secret compartment Tony had built into his uniform for the small sketchbook and pencil he always carried. Steve supposed he could have left it in his small, barebones Tower apartment since Tony never went down there, but since he had carried it with him ever since he’d picked it up from the jeweller, he hadn't wanted to leave it behind.

He was also hoping that after the proposal—as long as Tony said yes, of course—he could give up that apartment and move into the penthouse permanently. Ever since he and Tony had spent their first night together, Tony had told Steve that he was welcome to stay in the penthouse whenever he wanted, which Peter later informed Steve was Tony’s way of telling him that he wanted Steve to stay with them, but still leaving Steve an out if he felt that he needed time away.

And while Steve couldn’t understand why in the world Tony would think he would need space from him, according to Peter, Tony hadn't ever had a relationship that had lasted longer than a couple of months. Even his relationship with Peter’s mother had been something of a whirlwind, ending almost as soon as it began when Tony discovered that she had been sent by a rival company to try and spy on him. Steve had then spent the next thirty or so minutes—and two huge Dr Pepper floats—assuring Peter that he had no intention of ever leaving either of them, but understood that while Tony loved him, it was one of Tony’s self-preservation methods to always assume that his romantic partner would end up leaving him.

Part of the whole ‘Stark men are made of iron’ thing, according to Peter.

Regardless, it was an assumption that Steve would be very proud to prove wrong. 

But first, he had to get to the bunker.

Sucking in another deep breath, Steve attempted to force his mind to concentrate on anything besides the terrifying groaning sound that was still increasing in volume. It was now to the point where it was effectively blocking the rest of the natural noise of the woods, and that combined with the below-zero air and steadily increasing wind was enough to make Steve feel like he was literally frozen in place.

“I need—I need to move,” he managed to sputter, forcing the words past his frozen throat as he tried to convince himself to stand back up, to keep going towards his destination. Even if the bunker wasn’t heated, surely the structure itself would be warmer due to the simple fact that he would be indoors, out of the wind.

He only had to get there.

But Steve had no sooner attempted to stand to his feet when the noise suddenly spiked in volume, overwhelming his already frazzled senses. He immediately dropped back to the ground, curling into a tight ball with his shield held over his head, as if it could somehow block everything out.

It was futile. Just like when he had sunk to the bottom of the Arctic Ocean.

“Please!” he cried into the frigid night air, barely audible over the bloodcurdling groan. “Please, make it stop!”

And the last thing that Steve was aware of was the sound of heavy footsteps crunching along the rocky path, right before he felt a burning hot _zap_ to the base of his spine, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thrive on kudos and comments! Please don’t forget to hit the kudos button and leave me your thoughts on the chapter! 💗


	2. Part 2

The first thing Steve noticed when he came to was that he was _cold_. 

It wasn’t the chilly type of cold that Steve was familiar with, like the autumn weather in New York or the training gym at SHIELD’s headquarters in D.C. The kind of cold that a sweatshirt or jacket or a cuddle up with Tony under a blanket would alleviate. It wasn’t even the type that used to seep through the thin walls of his and ma’s house during the bitter Brooklyn winters, burrowing right through his multiple layers of patched clothing and ragtag bed coverings.

No. This was the type of cold that Steve _feared_. The bone-chilling, blood-freezing, and lung-seizing kind that Steve had experienced only twice before. Once during the bout of pneumonia he’d had when he was ten, when his fever climbed to over forty-one Celsius and his teeth chattered so hard that he chipped one of his incisors, and the second time when he’d slipped into the frigid water of the Arctic, trapped under three hundred tonnes of massive airplane.

The second thing that he noticed—which might have actually been the first, but he supposed that was besides the point—was the _pain_ . Searing, throbbing pain that burned across every single nerve fibre in his body, made worse by the constant groaning noise filling his frozen ears that sounded far, _far_ too much like the sound of a ship sinking.

Or, more appropriately, an airplane.

_What the—?_ he thought, his muddled mind unable to even complete the simple sentence without hissing in pain, as if even the process of thought was enough to activate it. He was immobile, which he supposed made sense given how frozen he was, while his eyes, which he had been attempting to blink open, immediately slammed closed again as he fought against the almost overwhelming urge to cry out.

He could not allow himself to do that. No matter who was responsible for his abduction, he simply could not allow them to even entertain the thought that he was breakable.

He was Captain America, for heaven’s sake, and Captain America didn't give in to bullies. No matter who they were.

And, since in that moment he didn't even think he could have moved if he’d wanted to, that stance made even more sense.

Breathing in as deep a breath as he could manage, Steve attempted to relax his arms and legs, using the biofeedback method he had researched the morning after his first bad nightmare. Since those nightmares had seen fit to begin tormenting him more and more often lately, he had actually become fairly proficient at the method, and soon found himself actually drifting off again as he tried to refocus the pain burning through his body as a means to stay warm instead of harm.

Unfortunately, it seemed as though only a few seconds had passed before Steve jerked awake again, this time barely managing to catch his gasp of anguish before it pulled from his throat. The pain was even worse now, like a million tiny knives stabbing him from all directions, while his head felt like someone had taken an ice pick to his temples. His knuckles were also throbbing in time with his heartbeat, as if he’d been forced to punch a solid brick wall multiple times.

With a choked-off gasp and his eyes still tightly closed, Steve shifted slightly, trying to manoeuvre his hand underneath him so he could at least push his body up off of the freezing cold floor. But he’d barely moved a single millimetre before the pain suddenly ramped up to a completely unbearable level, and he had no other choice but to cry out.

“Ahh!” he cried sharply, groaning as the noise only made the pain impossibly worse, ratcheting it up to such an intolerable level that Steve was shocked he was able to stay conscious. He attempted to breathe in again, to try and force his mind back into its biofeedback mode, when he suddenly heard what sounded like a large, heavy metal door swing open from the end of a long hallway, followed by the sound of footsteps _clacking_ on a cement floor.

Footsteps that came to an abrupt stop directly outside of Steve’s cell. Clenching his jaw, Steve slowly peeled his eyes open to find an older-looking man wearing a white lab coat and holding a clipboard, eyeing him through the front window of the cell as though he were some kind of experimental lab rat.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” the man said, far too conversationally for Steve’s taste. “I see you’ve finally regained consciousness.”

At first, Steve didn't respond, too confused as to how in the hell he was able to look the man straight in the eye when he was lying on the floor. It wasn’t until several heartbeats had passed that Steve realised that he actually _wasn’t._ Instead, after managing to stamp down his pain level just enough to drag his eyes downwards, he saw that instead of sprawled out on a freezing-cold floor, he was actually strapped to a concrete slab that was outfitted with several of what appeared to be some kind of fancy electrodes, not unlike the kind the SSR had used to measure his heart and lung capacity after his serum procedure.

And, if that wasn’t enough, all four walls of his cell were covered in ice, the only exception being the small, square window, through which the man was now intently peering at him.

Shifting his gaze back to the man, Steve narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, begging his body to keep his rising panic contained. While his serum procedure—and his subsequent dancing monkey time with the USO—had precluded the usual survival training the WWII Army soldiers had been required to complete, Steve had learned enough from the Army manuals and from leading his HYDRA missions to know that he absolutely could not show even a dram of weakness to his captors.

He could not give in. He just _couldn’t._ There were plenty of men who had endured being held prisoner during the war, and if they could survive it, then so could he.

_I am Steven Grant Rogers. I was born on July the fourth, nineteen hundred and eighteen. I am the son of Joseph and Sarah Rogers. I am the leader of the Avengers._

_I am Captain America._

He had repeated the mantra three more times when he heard the white-coated man _tsk_ loudly, shifting from foot to foot.

“Now, Captain,” he said, shaking his head as though he were admonishing a struggling student. “I am sure you are aware of how impolite it is to not acknowledge someone who is speaking to you? Surely your dear mother taught you better manners than that?”

Steve’s lips twitched as he attempted to focus his eyes directly on the man, hoping he could convey even a fraction of the contempt he was feeling.

“Who are you?” he asked in his Captain’s voice, or at least what was passing for his Captain’s voice when his mouth felt like it had been coated with sand and his tongue weighed as much as the _Valkyrie._

The man chuckled, clasping his clipboard with both hands as he gave a slight bow. “Ah, yes, Captain, it appears that I must apologise for my own manners,” he said. “My name is Doctor List.”

“All right,” Steve said, searching his muddled brain files for any previous reference to a Doctor List, and coming up empty. “So, why am I here?”

Doctor List smirked, his eyes crinkling behind his thick spectacles. “My colleagues and I have been very eager to meet you for a long time, Captain. Very eager indeed. I have been studying the work of Abraham Erskine for most of my life, but unfortunately I have never been quite able to replicate the miracle that he created in you. As a scientist, this has been immensely frustrating for me, as I’m sure you can understand.”

“Which is exactly how Dr Erskine would've wanted it,” Steve rasped. His discussions with the slight, kindly German-American doctor may have been few due to his gruesome murder by HYDRA, but Steve had still been able to glean enough information in those discussions to know that Dr Erskine would have never wanted his serum formula to fall into anyone’s hands who he deemed less than trustworthy.

And unfortunately, based on the SHIELD files Steve had studied since his recovery from the ice, plenty of organisations had tried. His own teammate, Dr Banner, had been a member of one such organisation, and had also paid a hefty price for his participation.

Doctor List laughed, a sound that while under different circumstances might’ve been innocuous enough, only served to reinforce the million-watt pain coursing through Steve’s body. Against his will, he let out a groan, clenching his hands into such tight fists that a bolt of pain shot across both sets of knuckles.

“My dear Captain Rogers,” he said, still chuckling. “Surely you don't honestly believe that Dr Erskine wanted his work to die with you?”

“Who says I’m gonna die?” Steve replied, biting back another gasp of pain. It wasn’t a retort that was completely without backing. While he knew that he wasn’t immortal, the studies the SSR had completed on his body mechanics after the serum combined with the numerous physicals and tests he’d had since he was found in the ice, there did seem to be a general consensus that barring any severe, non-healable injury, his life would be a long one. He couldn’t get sick, at least not with any current or formerly existing pathogens, and any injuries he sustained usually healed within a few hours, with the few broken bones he had experienced healing in a couple of days.

Aside from Thor, who was an actual god, Steve was the closest that living, breathing humanoids came to being indestructible.

Doctor List took another step forward, his upper lip curling into a sneer as Steve instinctively tried to back away, bringing a fresh wave of pain washing across his body.

“No one said that you're going to die, Captain,” Doctor List said quietly. “But, unfortunately, I cannot promise that you will not come close. You see, Dr Erskine was actually a very selfish man. He never saw fit to write down or record his secret formula, and so for years, decades really, scientists have been forced to start from scratch in their attempts to replicate it. But none of them have been successful. None of them have really even come close, so, pardon me, but I’m sure you can understand just how difficult it must be. To have so much potential sitting right there, just barely out of reach.” His sneer transformed into a smile, a wide, leering grin. “But now, Captain, now that we have you, well… dare I say that finally, victory may very well be within our grasp.”

A loud groan of pain and fear worked its way up from Steve’s lungs, only to jam in his throat, resulting in a brief coughing fit that left tears streaming down his face by the time it was over.

“Ah huh,” Steve finally managed. “And who’s ‘our’?”

Doctor List tilted his head, once again regarding Steve with an air of disappointment. “Oh, Captain,” he said with a sigh. “You may have believed that your little stunt with Schmidt’s aircraft was enough to kill HYDRA completely, but I’m afraid that even with your, shall we say, flair for the dramatic, you still only managed to cut off one head.” He paused, stepping so close to the window that his long, rather beaky nose was almost touching the glass. “And now, two more have taken its place.”

Several heartbeats passed before Steve’s pain-addled mind was able to catch up with Doctor List’s proclamation, and all of the ramifications behind it.

_No,_ he thought, his immediate reaction being that there could be no possible way that this Doctor List person was telling the truth.

“You're lying,” he said, low and tight.

Tipping his head back, Doctor List let out a laugh, one so stereotypically evil that Steve could’ve sworn he had stepped straight out of one of Peter’s movies.

“I’m afraid not, Captain,” said Doctor List, still chuckling. “We have just been in hiding.”

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull!” Steve snapped. “There is no possible way—!”

“Oh please, Captain,” Doctor List cut in. “This is all really just a waste of time. The fact remains that—”

“No!” Steve cried, followed directly on its heels by a burst of such intense pain that he felt like his entire nervous system was overloading. Chills raced down his spine, spreading down his limbs at a rapidly increasing rate, almost as though his very own heartbeat was fuelling them.

_It can't be true!_ he screamed inside his head, even as his last shred of rationality knew that it had to be. The fake mission, the booby traps, the groaning sound mimicking the sinking _Valkyrie,_ all of it just so HYDRA could get their hands on him.

“Why?” he asked, before he could stop himself. In the grand scheme of things Steve knew the ‘why’ didn't matter at all, but he felt he at least deserved an explanation.

He had tried to die to stamp them out, after all.

But Doctor List only shook his head, the smile dropping from his face as he clutched his clipboard to his chest. “I am afraid, Captain, that your noble sacrifice was all for nothing. You see, HYDRA has been what you would call lying low, biding its time. And now, once I am through with you, it will be stronger than ever!”

And then he turned on his heel and _clacked_ his way back down the hall, leaving Steve alone, immobile, and absolutely freezing.

Just like he’d been in the ice.

* * *

“What in the goddamn _hell_ do you mean you’ve lost contact with him?” Tony snapped, glaring bullets up at the visage of Nick Fury on his viewscreen. “For fuck’s sake, Nick, it’s been almost four weeks! Steve’s radio silence wasn’t supposed to last this long!”

“I am aware of that, Tony,” Fury said, far too nonchalantly for Tony’s taste. “And before you ask, yes, I am also aware that Rumlow has missed three scheduled check-ins, since you saw fit to hack into SHIELD’s computer systems early this morning.”

Tony turned on his heel, his upper lip curling into a sneer as he pressed his palm to his chest, over the arc reactor.

“It’s not hacking if I’m on the goddamn payroll, _Nick,_ ” Tony stated. “Which I was, last I checked. As is Steve Rogers. You know, the man you seem to have _lost?”_

Fury sighed, shifting on his fancy desk chair. “Look, Tony, I know you won’t believe me when I say that we’re doing all that we can to locate Captain Rogers, but—”

“You're damn right I don't believe you,” Tony cut in.

“But we are doing everything that we can to locate Captain Rogers,” Fury continued. “However, given the current rising tensions in the area and the weather system that’s dumped over a metre of snow there in the last few days, we are having a bit of trouble obtaining permission to enter the country.”

“What? Why?” Tony exclaimed. “You already have people on the ground there!”

Fury dropped his gaze, fiddling with a stack of perfectly arranged papers on his desk.

“Nick?” Tony said slowly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Tapping his middle finger on the papers, Fury huffed out a sharp breath, his one visible eye narrowed.

“We don't,” he said quietly.

Tony’s belly dropped to his knees. “Ah, _what_?” he choked out. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Fury scoffed, tapping his palm on the desk. “Right before you called, I received word from one of our undercover agents in a neighbouring country. Now, given that this is still unverified information, I have to take it with a grain of salt. But if what she’s been able to uncover is true, then I have good reason to believe that the entire STRIKE team has been taken over by HYDRA.”

It took several heartbeats for Fury’s words to completely sink in. Growing up with Howard Stark for a father, Tony had heard of HYDRA before, but only in that weird, disconnected way of someone who never believed they would ever have to deal with them. Kinda like the mob. Or some made-up supervillain like the Joker.

Loki notwithstanding, of course.

“Okay, um…” he said, scrubbing his palm down his face. “So you're trying to tell me that the enemy Steve vanquished back during World War II, which, if I remember correctly, ended in 1945, for God’s sake, has now just suddenly sprung up right out of the goddamn ground to kidnap him?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” said Fury, so matter-of-factly that Tony’s blood instantly transformed into ice. “‘Cause based on the evidence that we have, that’s exactly what’s happened.”

Too frozen to move, Tony could only stare at Fury’s face, his heart thudding as he waited for Fury to tell him he was joking.

But he didn't.

He was absolutely serious.

Steve had been kidnapped by HYDRA.

_Holy shit._

Several seconds passed before Tony felt even capable of breathing, much less speech. Steve wasn’t only the most kind and beautiful man that Tony had ever met, he was also the bravest, always the first to dive into any potentially dangerous situation, and so protective of Tony and Peter that sometimes Tony had to remind himself to not take it personally.

There really was only one thing—okay, two things—that Steve was afraid of. Losing Tony and Peter, and HYDRA.

But, unlike Tony and Peter, HYDRA was supposed to be dead. Gone. Quashed when Steve defeated the Red Skull only minutes before he crashed his massive plane into the Arctic ice.

“We had no idea, Tony,” Fury said, as if he thought his words would somehow help. “No goddamn idea that HYDRA has been just sitting there, right under our noses this entire time.”

Tony’s fingers curled into such tight fists that his fingernails broke through his skin, causing him to flinch. He drew in a deep breath, deliberately loosening his grip as he looked Fury straight in the eye.

“How?” he asked, so quietly he was surprised he was even audible.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” replied Fury. “But it seems as though a few of the scientists that were brought on after World War II had some ties to the organisation that weren’t discovered in time.”

“In _time?”_ Tony snapped. “You mean, not until you realised that Steve was missing?”

“Tony—”

“Who hired these scientists?” Tony cut in.

Fury dropped his shoulders. “Tony, I really don't think this is help—”

“Goddamnit, Nick, who hired the fucking scientists?” yelled Tony.

“I’m pretty sure you already know the answer to that question,” Fury replied with a severe frown. “But, like I already said, it doesn't do a damn bit of good to dwell on it now. We only need to focus on finding Rogers.”

Tony shook his head, tears welling in his exhausted eyes. Yes, they needed to focus on finding Steve, and as soon as possible. But there was a bit more to it than that.

“Maybe not to you,” he whispered. “But to me…”

_But to me, it means everything._

Because not only had Howard’s obsession with Steve destroyed his entire family, it was now also attempting to destroy the very root of his obsession.

_I fucking hate irony!_

Swiping at his eyes, Tony pressed his palm over the arc reactor, trailing his fingertip down the chain holding Steve’s dog tags.

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?”

Fury shifted again, transferring papers from one pile to another. “As I told you, we need to tread carefully here. The area Rogers went down in is precarious at best, and so—”

“And what makes you so goddamn sure that he’s still even there?” demanded Tony. “For all we know, he could be anywhere by now?”

“It’s unlikely that he’s been moved from the general area,” Fury said. “My undercover agent hasn’t seen anything that would indicate a prisoner transfer, and—” 

“Ah, sorry, but you're gonna have to do a lot better than that,” snapped Tony. “If this place is as unstable as you say, then who’s to say that this agent’s even still yours?”

Fury’s jaw twitched, his eye narrowing dangerously. “Since I trust this agent with my life, I’m going to pretend I didn't hear that.” He let out a heavy sigh. “But we also now have every reason to believe that the entire area’s been taken over by HYDRA.”

Tony sniffed, contemplating. “Okay, so you think HYDRA’s been behind all the instability in the region over the years?” He asked.

“Yes,” answered Fury. “The main manifesto of HYDRA is to induce chaos, and there aren’t many places that have seen more chaos than that area.”

“All right,” said Tony. “Then what’s the plan for getting Steve out?”

Fury tilted his head. “Did you not just hear me? I just told you that area is extremely precarious, so—”

“I heard you just fine, Nick, but what I _haven’t_ heard is an answer to my question!” barked Tony. “What is the plan for getting Steve out of there?”

The bob of Fury’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed was all the answer that Tony needed.

“You goddamn sick son of a bitch,” he said quietly. “You don't have one.”

“Tony—”

“Nope!” Tony yelped, raising his palm at the screen. “You have now lost every single right that you had to call me that. From now on, I am only Mr Stark to you. Or better yet, Iron Man.”

Fury tilted his head, giving Tony his _yeah, right_ expression, which only made Tony angrier.

“Tony—”

“And as Iron Man, who just happens to be one of the Avengers—you know, that team of superheroes that Captain America’s in charge of? The team who saved New York City when goddamn _aliens_ decided to invade?—I am going to go in there and rescue Steve!”

“Tony—!”

“And I fucking _dare_ you to try and stop me!”

Tony jumped as Fury slammed his palm onto the desk before leaning forward, almost like he was trying to crawl through the screen. “Goddamnit, Tony! With the unbalance in that area it’d be a suicide mission! Think of your son!”

“Oh yeah? Who says I’m not?” demanded Tony. “If you don't think that Pete’s just as worried about Steve as I am, then you don't know him at all! And you're forgetting that I’ve already done the whole suicide mission thing more than once, so this’ll be just like another day at the office!”

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Fury. “You really are one stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Well,” Tony said with a shrug. “I s’pose if there’s anything that Howard taught me…”

Fury scoffed, letting out a morbid chuckle. “Heh. Yeah, I guess so.” Then he steepled his fingers under his chin, suddenly aging about ten years in less than a second. “Tony, I can’t tell you not to go. But please, as an old man who cares very much about you, don’t just try and wing this, okay? We’re uncovering new information almost by the second here, and none of it’s good, which leads me to believe that Rogers’ kidnapping has been in the works for a long time. And because of that, I don't think they’re gonna make it easy for anyone to get him out.”

“Hmph,” Tony muttered. “Nothing like a big-ass bully with an even bigger-ass, seventy-year-old grudge, hmm?”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Fury. “Just… be careful.”

“Oh, you know,” Tony said with a shrug. “It’s me.”

“I know,” Fury muttered, frowning deeply. “And that’s exactly what worries me.”

“Well… I’d have to say that it would be kinda nice if you'd release all the files you’ve got on these HYDRA assholes, so I don't have to waste time digging for ‘em,” Tony said. “Let me at least come up with a bit of a game plan.”

“I’ll send them over in a few minutes,” Fury said after a short pause. “I hope I don't have to tell you just how classified these are.”

“Nope, but I have a feeling you're gonna tell me anyway,” said Tony.

“Let’s just say that they’re way above your pay grade, and leave it at that,” Fury said. “And since we don’t know how far up this thing goes yet, I’d be extra careful about where you open ‘em.”

Tony breathed in, his fingers curling around Steve’s dog tags through his shirt. “Copy that. I’ll keep ya in the loop.”

“Good,” Fury said, just before the screen went blank. As soon as he was gone, Tony stumbled backwards, barely grabbing onto the edge of the counter before his legs gave way and he crumpled into a heap on the floor.

Steve— _his_ Steve—was missing. Presumed to be kidnapped by HYDRA, an organisation that was supposed to be dead.

“Oh, God!” he said on a gasp, pressing the dog tags into his skin. “Please, don't take him from us! Not now, not—!”

_Not when I’ve just started to believe he was truly ours._

It was still a bit unnerving just how quickly Steve was able to break down the iron walls Tony had spent years expertly building around his heart, beam by beam. Their first encounter on the streets of Germany had been awkward as hell, not at all helped by the suit Steve was wearing, Coulson’s wet-dream version of Captain America’s old comic-book uniform. Once he’d blasted Loki down, it had taken more of Tony’s strength than he’d cared to admit first to not laugh right in Steve’s face, and then later to keep his eyes from popping out once Steve finally removed the ridiculous-looking cowl from his head and Tony finally got his first good, long look at the living legend himself.

And _holy shit_ , what a look! Even there on the floor of his lab and right on the verge of a mental breakdown, Tony still felt a jolt of electricity race down his spine at the memory of just how _blue_ Steve’s eyes had been there, in the dim light of the Quinjet. Since Peter was born, Tony hadn’t dated much, and it had been so long—years, really—since he’d had any real inkling of actual sexual desire that he had almost forgotten what it felt like.

Of course, the middle of Earth’s first alien invasion was not exactly the best time for Tony to be ogling anyone, especially since for most of his life he had tried to convince himself that he despised anything to do with Steve Rogers. Choosing to interpret Steve’s overall uneasiness with the modern times he’d been so rudely thrust into as arrogance, Tony had almost managed to put him out of his mind until he happened to wake up in the middle of that destroyed street to find those goddamn blue eyes—with just the slightest hint of green—staring down at him.

And that, as the poet’s say, was all it took.

Well, not _exactly_ , but close enough for government work. The fact that it took Steve asking Tony out on a date three separate times for him to finally say yes—and then only because Peter literally begged him—was a testament to both the stubbornness that Fury had so aptly pointed out, and the depth of Tony’s fear that the super soldier just might have what it took to finally tear down his iron walls for good.

Which, not surprisingly, he did. And a huge part of that was just how easily Peter fell in love with Steve too. Tony had promised himself after Peter was born that he would dedicate himself to being the best father he could possibly be, breaking the cycle of shame that had haunted the Stark family for generations. He had sworn that his old partying, playboying ways would come to an end the very moment the nurse laid his tiny son in his arms. From that second on, Peter would always come first.

Family, not work, like Howard, and definitely not his social life, which, while occasionally fun, had really brought Tony more pain and embarrassment than anything. The amount of times Tony had been fined or arrested for getting too drunk and causing damage at some chintzy nightclub out in Jersey was not something that he enjoyed remembering.

And in the twelve years since, Tony’s commitment to his son hadn't wavered in the slightest. Instead of hiring a nanny, Tony chose to care for Peter all by himself, through the seemingly endless days and sleepless nights of the first few weeks of his life, working from home unless absolutely necessary. Once Peter was a few months old—and sleeping just a tiny bit better—Tony started bringing him to work during the day, setting up a baby-proofed area in his office, and even conducting the occasional meeting while Peter slept on his chest or back. After Peter was old enough to start school, Tony made sure to keep his calendar completely clear during dropoff and pickup times, and for any events Peter participated in.

To put it bluntly, before Steve, Tony had just never felt comfortable sharing Peter with anyone.

But, just like Steve had managed to change Tony’s mind about his own lovability, he had also completely shattered Tony’s formerly-ironclad fears about allowing his son out of his proverbial sight, and all by being nothing more than his usual, wonderful self. Tony liked to say that Steve had not only courted Tony with all of the genteel of the quintessential 1940s gentleman, he had also courted Peter, proving that, amongst all of his other impeccable qualifications, he was an absolute natural when it came to parenting. Taking Peter out to eat, and to baseball games when Tony was particularly busy, picking him up from school, and in general slipping so easily into a co-parenting role that when Steve sheepishly asked Tony a few weeks ago if it would okay for him to officially adopt Peter, Tony had said yes without a single moment’s hesitation. After Afghanistan, Tony had been dogged with the realisation that he’d had yet to nominate an alternative caregiver for Peter in the case of his untimely death, and, given the need for the hunk of metal currently embedded in his chest, not to mention his new, not-an-office-job side gig as an Avenger, it was a huge weight off of Tony’s shoulders to know that if something were to happen to him, Peter would be taken care of by someone who loved him just as much as Tony.

Hearing Peter call Steve ‘Papa’ like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if Steve had been there from the very beginning, only cemented the deal.

Which only made the fact that Steve was now missing all that much worse. The thought of having to tell Peter that his papa was missing, maybe even presumed dead— _nope, nope! Not going there!_ —filled Tony with a dread almost more paralysing than the news itself. Tony could survive with a broken heart if he had to, but he would rather die than subject his precious son to that same pain.

All the more reason for him to get his ass up off the floor and start working on a rescue plan.

Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, Tony swiped at his teary eyes and pushed himself up to his feet, tugging Steve’s dog tags out from under his shirt so he could better see them.

“JARVIS? You there?” 

“At your service, sir,” replied JARVIS. Because no matter what, JARVIS was always there.

“Yeah. Fury didn't happen to send you any files in the last couple minutes, did he?”

“Indeed he did, sir,” answered JARVIS. “Files included are personnel, missions, and documents suspected to have ties to the former Nazi organisation, HYDRA.”

“All right,” Tony said. “Let’s start with the SHIELD employees suspected to be HYDRA moles.”

“Very good sir.” A second later a photograph of Brock Rumlow, leader of the STRIKE team, appeared on the screen. Tony’s stomach immediately did a flip, and he instinctively turned away, unable to tolerate even the sight of that monstrous prick.

If Rumlow was indeed responsible for Steve’s abduction, then he’d better damn well watch his back. Because once Tony got his hands on him, there would be no level of hell, Hel, or any other form of underworld deep enough to protect him.

No one messes with Tony’s man, with his _family,_ and lives to tell the tale.

_No one._

Chomping down hard on his bottom lip, Tony turned back to the screen. “Okay, J, how ‘bout we just go on the assumption that the entire STRIKE team is HYDRA, yeah? Unless you’ve got any evidence that might say otherwise?”

“At this moment, sir, I do not,” said JARVIS.

“All right, then that’s assumption number one,” said Tony. “Now, who else do we got?”

The screen blinked, displaying the photograph of a female Level 12 Agent who was a personal lackey of SHIELD bigwig, Alexander Pierce, with the next photo one of Pierce himself. Tony scoffed as Pierce’s cold, lined face came into focus, rolling his eyes as he muttered, “Figures” under his breath. He had only met the man once, not too long after the Chitauri invasion, when Pierce had invited the team to D.C. in order to give them his thanks in person. Pierce had no sooner stepped inside the massive conference room where the team had assembled when Tony’s suspicions were piqued, and he’d decided not three seconds later that the man reminded him way too much of Obadiah Stane to ever be considered trustworthy.

Apparently his gut reaction had been spot on.

_My math is always right._

“All right, on second thought, I’m not sure this is all that helpful,” Tony said a few minutes later, after about the umpteenth photo. He scrubbed his palm down his face, tapping his chin.

“Was anyone besides the STRIKE team a part of Steve’s mission?” he asked.

“No, sir,” said JARVIS. “There are no records of other agents being briefed on Captain Rogers’ mission.”

“All right,” said Tony. “And who does the STRIKE team report to?”

“Agent Brock Rumlow is the commander of the STRIKE team, sir,” answered JARVIS.

“Okay, so… who does he report to?”

A short pause followed, one where Tony could almost picture the UI tilting his head as he thought.

If JARVIS actually had a head.

“It appears that the STRIKE team chain of command ends with Agent Rumlow, sir,” JARVIS finally said.

“Ah huh. Which probably means that he reports directly to Pierce then, hmm?”

“I believe that to be a safe assumption, sir.”

“All right. So now all we have to do is figure out who Pierce is reporting to,” said Tony. He curled his fingers around the dog tags, squeezing them into his palm. “And then figure out where in the hell they took Steve.”

“Aside from the World Security Council, sir?” asked JARVIS.

“Nah, I’d be really surprised if they’re part of it,” Tony said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “If Pierce is one of the bigwigs with HYDRA, then he’s not gonna surround himself with more of ‘em. I’m thinking that the buck has to stop with Pierce.”

“If that is indeed the case, sir, then it is likely Pierce who ordered the abduction of Captain Rogers,” said JARVIS.

Tony flinched, stamping down the whirlpool of panic swirling deep in his gut. “Yeah, I’m thinking you’re right, but… there's still something that doesn't quite fit. Pierce just isn’t smart enough to come up with something as big as this, and neither is Rumlow. There has to be someone else in the background, pulling the strings.” He huffed out a sharp breath, pressing the dog tags to his chest as he started to pace back and forth.

“JARVIS, you think you could find me a backdoor into Pierce’s secure SHIELD files?”

“In order to avoid detection, such an endeavour will require several hours, sir,” JARVIS said. “But I do believe it to be possible.”

Tony sighed, checking the old-fashioned wall clock he’d installed by the doorway at Steve’s request. While Steve had adjusted well to most of the twenty-first century technology, thanks largely in part to Peter, he still far preferred to use analog devices whenever possible. Things like non-digital clocks, windup record players instead of MP3s, and compasses instead of fancy GPS devices were just a few examples, and Tony was only too happy to indulge his beloved man in his desires to keep a few familiar things close while he continued to navigate through his new time.

Unfortunately, that same old-fashioned wall clock was now telling Tony that he needed to leave in about five minutes so he could pick up Peter from school, and he had absolutely no earthly clue what he was going to tell him. There was no way he could hide what he knew. Peter was far too perceptive, and had always had the uncanny ability to read Tony like a book with just one glance. He was also missing his papa badly, and in the past few days had taken to asking Tony almost every hour on the hour if there had been any news from him.

“Oh God!” Tony said on a gasp. There was no way he could tell Peter that Steve had been kidnapped. Peter had been so worried for Tony while he was being held prisoner in Afghanistan that he’d lost almost fifteen pounds, and was barely more than skin and bones by the time he and Tony were reunited at Bagram Air Force base.

There was no way that Tony could put him through that again.

“I’ll have to think of something,” Tony muttered as he started searching for the car keys he knew had to be somewhere. He finally located them down between the cushions on the couch in the lab, where he had been spending his nights ever since Steve left. For someone who had always adamantly refused to spend the night with a lover, Tony had gotten so used to having Steve in his bed with him—he liked to joke that Steve’s fast metabolism made him the perfect space heater—he had found that he now couldn’t sleep without him. Couldn't sleep without Steve’s heavy arm anchoring Tony to him, and the comforting sound of Steve’s slow, steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep like a lullaby.

_We’re gonna find him,_ Tony thought fiercely as he grabbed one of Steve’s zip-up sweatshirts and headed for the elevator.

_We have to find him. There’s no other option._

The drive to the school passed in a blur, and before Tony knew it, he was forcing a plastered smile onto his face as he pulled into the parking lot, where Peter was waiting with his friends outside the doors.

“Hey, buddy!” he said as Peter slid into the front seat next to him. “How was school?”

“Um… it was fine?” Peter replied, his eyebrows knitting together as he scanned Tony’s face. “Did you hear anything from Papa today?”

For a second or three, Tony was very tempted to lie to his son, something he had sworn he would never, ever do.

“Buddy, there’s something—”

“What?” Peter cut in, a bit more frantic now. “Dad, what's wrong? Has something happened to Papa?”

Tony internally groaned. It was too late now.

“Papa missed his scheduled check-in, buddy, and Fury’s worried that he might’ve run into some trouble,” Tony rushed out. “So once I figure out a few things, I’m gonna go in and try and find him.”

Peter’s already pale cheeks paled even more, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “You mean, you think he might be hurt? Or—or—?”

“We’re not trying to make any guesses at the moment, buddy,” Tony said. “We’re just trying to put the pieces together of what might’ve happened.”

“Okay, then I wanna help you,” Peter stated. “If something’s happened to Papa, I wanna help you figure out what it is.”

Tony sighed. He’d been afraid of this. “Pete, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea—”

“Please!” Peter begged, his huge brown eyes filling with tears behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Dad, please! You know how good I am with research and digging through stuff, so please! Let me help!”

“Pete…” Tony said, rolling his shoulders, which were rock-hard with tension. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Peter no, that he was too young to get involved with all of the horribleness that was HYDRA.

But like Steve frequently told Peter while they worked on Peter’s history homework together, learning history was paramount to ensuring that the bad stuff was never repeated, and Tony supposed that HYDRA’s quiet concealment within SHIELD for seventy years would definitely qualify as bad.

“All right, buddy,” Tony finally agreed. He clapped his hand onto Peter’s knee, squeezing it gently. “Let’s do this.”

Peter gave a nod, attempting a smile. “Don't worry, Dad. You know Papa won’t give up without a fight. He’s even more stubborn than you.”

Tony’s heart lurched, and he reached for Peter’s shoulders, pulling his precious boy into a tight hug.

“But not more than you, right, bud?” he said into his son’s hair. “Isn’t that what we all decided that one night?”

Peter let out a short chuckle as he pulled away, swiping the back of his hand across his nose. 

“Yeah, something like that.”


	3. Part 3

Tony dropped his chin to his chest, digging his fingertips into his left shoulder muscle in a vain attempt to alleviate its increasingly painful tightness. It was well past three in the morning, and while he had tucked Peter into his spot on the lab’s couch almost three hours ago, he’d continued on, trying to make some sense of the chaotic mess of papers scattered across the floor in front of him.

From what he could tell, Steve had been dropped from his transport aircraft approximately seventy-five kilometres from an armoured bunker that supposedly contained documents proving that some dictator had done something wrong somewhere.

As dictators tended to do, Tony supposed.

The problem began with the description of the wooded and mountainous area that surrounded the bunker. Due to its high altitude and remote location, the surrounding climate was as close to a tundra as it could possibly get while still possessing greenery. That in and of itself would’ve been a huge red flag, had Tony known about it before Steve left on the mission. Steve was quite possibly the most stubborn person Tony had ever met—with Peter being a very close second—and likely did not even consider refusing the mission, even though Tony knew that he absolutely  _ abhorred  _ being cold.

_ Goddamn stubborn soldier, _ Tony thought as he tipped his head from side to side, groaning in exhaustion. He had been sleeping like shit ever since Steve left, but in the nearly three weeks since Fury’s bombshell about HYDRA, Tony’s sleep had only come in short fits and starts, and always under protest.

And every single sleeping moment had been filled with horrible images of Steve being tortured, or worse. Images that were now permanently seared into Tony’s mind.

For Tony, not knowing all the details was almost the worst part, as no matter what was actually happening, his mind was certain to conjure up something even worse.

He didn't used to be called the Merchant of Death for nothing.

Scrubbing at his bleary eyes, Tony rolled his shoulders and picked up one of his discarded pieces of paper, blinking as he attempted to focus in on the too-small print. He groped around for his glasses, nearly poking himself in the eye with the arm as he tried to slide them on before he started rereading the paragraphs he’d probably already read over a thousand times.

“Operation Paperclip,” he muttered. “Beginning in 1945, the United States of America began Operation Overcast, later renamed Operation Paperclip, an effort to recruit former Nazi scientists to work for the United States instead of the Soviet Union. Oh, ‘cause inviting the fucking  _ Nazis  _ to come live and work in the U.S. didn't pose any risks at all, right?” Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Way to go, Howard.”

Adjusting his glasses, Tony continued on. “One of the most prominent recruits was rocket scientist Wernher von Braun, who built V-2 rockets for the Nazis, and later helped develop the first rockets to exit the Earth’s atmosphere. This continued until von Braun’s former Nazi association became widely known across the country, and he was forced to resign in disgrace.” Tony paused, downing half of a cup of coffee in three large gulps and grimacing at the lukewarm, bitter taste. He couldn't help but wonder how much of Howard’s initial missile designs for Stark Industries had been influenced by von Braun’s work.

“Mmm,” Tony muttered. “Dude should’ve been arrested instead, along with the rest of his Nazi lackeys.”

With a quick glance over at his sleeping son, Tony continued on.

“Another prominent recruit was former HYDRA scientist Arnim Zola, who during World War II had worked closely with Johann Schmidt, the man who would eventually come to be known as the Red Skull.”

Tony’s heart gave a hard lurch as he reread the last paragraph two more times, his left hand curling tighter around Steve’s dog tags with each word.

“Arnim Zola, who had worked closely with the Red Skull.”

It’d been the Red Skull’s airplane that Steve had crashed into the Arctic, after he’d defeated the wanna-be super soldier in hand-to-hand combat and sent the Tesseract, the source of the HYDRA weapons’ power—and the cause of the recent debacle with Loki—down into the ocean.

The Tesseract that Howard had then fished right back out, of course.

_ Just couldn't leave well enough alone, could ya, Howard? _

_ You never could. _

“Ah, J?” Tony said softly. The last thing he wanted was to wake up his sleeping boy, who had absolutely insisted on staying in the room with Tony even as he was nodding over his stack of papers.

“At your service, sir,” JARVIS responded, just as softly. Tony was convinced that if JARVIS was actually capable of love, Peter would be his top choice.

“Ah, what can you tell me about a former SHIELD scientist named Arnim Zola?” He picked up his tablet, tapping it to life. “Send it to my screen here, yeah?”

“Certainly, sir,” answered JARVIS. A couple seconds later, text began scrolling across Tony’s screen, so much that Tony realised he was going to have to refill his coffee if he was going to be able to get through it all. With a pained groan, Tony set down the papers and pushed himself up to his feet, shuffling over to the coffeemaker he had moved into the lab once Steve left. He poured himself a fresh cup, taking a quick sip before resuming his position on the floor.

“All right, Howard,” he muttered as he picked up his tablet. “Let’s see just how badly you managed to fuck everything up, hmm?”

_ Arnim Zola was a Swiss-born working for the secret German HYDRA weapons division during World War II. Originally an employee of the Sturmabteilung, Zola was recruited in 1934 by Johann Schmidt to become his lead scientist for HYDRA. During the early days of World War II, Zola was assigned by Schmidt to study the device known as the Tesseract, which had been previously kept under guard by Asgardian worshipers in Norway, to build powerful advanced weaponry. Schmidt had initially stated that he’d intended to impress upon Fuhrer Hitler in order to advance his ranking within the German scientific community. However, once Zola was able to produce a successful Tesseract-powered weapon, Schmidt’s true intentions to take over not only Germany but the entire world, became clear. _

_ Following his successful serum procedure, Captain Steve Rogers was sent to raid the numerous facilities Schmidt had built to manufacture the HYDRA weaponry. During these raids, Captain Rogers was successful in destroying the weapons, and also managed to capture Zola prior to his untimely demise. _

“Who in the hell wrote this garbage?” Tony exclaimed, immediately cringing when Peter let out an annoyed grunt in his sleep. “Good freaking grief, it’s like it was written by one of Schmidt’s groupies or something!”

“If you were indeed addressing me, sir,” JARVIS piped up. “I am afraid I am not aware of who authored that particular document.”

“Nah, J, it’s okay,” replied Tony. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“Ah. I understand, sir.”

_ Despite being captured by Captain Rogers and his Howling Commandos shortly before Schmidt’s defeat in 1945, Zola was later offered a position at SHIELD, the newly formed peacekeeping organisation, as part of Operation Paperclip. It was believed that recruiting these former enemy scientists would be more beneficial than having them potentially fall into the hands of the Soviet Union. _

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve already gone over this,” Tony grumbled. He took another big sip of his coffee, gasping softly as the scorching hot liquid burned its way down his throat. Then he scrolled down a bit, trying to find something he hadn't already read.

Which, unfortunately, was nothing. The entire rest of the document, save for the final paragraph, was just more reiterations of the same information.

_ Well, Howard did always love to repeat himself,  _ Tony thought bitterly. Removing his glasses, he scrubbed his palm down his face, trying to force his exhausted mind to think.

“Okay so…” he murmured. “Zola gets captured by Steve, which then leads to Schmidt’s defeat and his precious bombs, meant to destroy the U.S. being crashed into the Arctic. The U.S. was really the only threat to Schmidt’s plan, so once Steve took him out, that would’ve been it. Except…” Tony tapped his chin, thinking. “So Zola’s already in the U.S., and under government protection, so… what’s the first thing he does?” Tony jumped as he slapped his hand down onto his thigh, his heart thudding madly against his ribcage. “Holy shit. It was him. It must’ve been all him.”

It made sense, Tony supposed, why no one would have suspected Zola. From the photos Tony had seen of the man, he was short and stout with round spectacles, the perfect picture of a nerdy scientist. He probably even gave Howard some sob story about how Schmidt had threatened to kill him if he didn't go along with his madness, or some other such bullshit.

And Howard being who he was, always eager to glean from any mind he deemed close to his level of intelligence, had probably lapped it up like a dog.

“Okay, so, JARVIS,” Tony murmured. “Whatever happened to this Zola asshole?”

“According to the SHIELD database, Arnim Zola died of cancer in 1972,” replied JARVIS. “He was then cremated, with his ashes returned to his native Switzerland following a brief memorial service.”

“Aww, how sweet of SHIELD to ship him home,” Tony said with a sneer. “I bet Howard even sent flowers.”

“I have no way of confirming that, sir,” said JARVIS.

“Nah, that doesn't matter,” Tony said dismissively.

“Another rhetorical statement, sir?”

Tony gave a nod. “Yep. But…” He paused as he searched through his mess of papers, locating one about two-thirds of the way through the second pile. “Zola was eventually put in charge of developing intelligence software while he was at SHIELD, yeah?”

“According to his personnel record, sir, Mr Zola was promoted rapidly within the SHIELD organisation, and was overseeing all of SHIELD’s intelligence software by the end of his fifth year with the organisation.”

“Ah huh,” said Tony. “That seems pretty quick, doesn't it? Especially for someone who was a Nazi?”

“It would appear so, sir.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought…” Tony’s voice trailed off as he dug around for yet another paper, gulping down about a third of his coffee as he read.

“So it says here that SHIELD’s first mission into the same area where Steve was dropped was about eight years after Zola was put in charge of SHIELD’s intelligence software.”

“Yes, sir?” replied JARVIS.

Tony picked up another paper, his heart quickening in anticipation. “And then, for some dumb-ass reason, they continued conducting regular missions into that area from then on. Every six months, give or take a day or two, and no matter what political regime happened to be in charge at the time.”

There was a short pause before JARVIS asked, “You are inferring a correlation, sir?”

“You bet your ass I am,” Tony said firmly. “Especially since these so-called missions were deliberately kept off of SHIELD’s main books. Fury hadn't ever even seen this info until after the Chitauri invasion.”

“It would seem odd for the Director of SHIELD to not have access to files regarding its own intelligence, sir,” JARVIS agreed.

“You're damn right it does,” stated Tony. “Especially since it was Rumlow who eventually brought it to Fury’s attention.” He slapped his hand on the paper. “Once the HYDRA operatives within SHIELD got to see Steve in action during the Chitauri kerfuffle, they realised that they wanted to get their grubby-ass hands on him.”

“Yes, sir,” said JARVIS. “But to what end? It would not be in HYDRA’s favour to destroy Captain America.”

“No, you're right, ‘cause it would blow their cover,” answered Tony. His eyebrows shot up as an absolutely horrible thought rose to the forefront of his mind, one that had him gasping so loudly that Peter whined in his sleep.

“Oh God!” he rasped, pressing his palm to his chest, over Steve’s dog tags. “JARVIS, that one file we went over earlier stated that for years, SHIELD tried to replicate the serum Dr Erskine used on Steve, yeah?”

“That is correct, sir. Even your father was involved in such a project, but he, along with all of the others, were unsuccessful.”

“Exactly,” Tony said. “And I’d bet my entire bank account that HYDRA’s still pissed about it. Which means now that they’ve got access to Steve, they’ll—” He broke off, unable to finish his sentence.

_ Oh God, please! Don't let them hurt him! _

Which, he realised, was absolutely ridiculous. Of course they were going to hurt him. It wasn’t as though HYDRA took Steve so he could teach them how to play chess.

“They’ll… what, sir?” JARVIS gently asked.

“Huh?” Tony said, glancing idly up at the ceiling. He sniffed, swiping at a stray tear that had escaped down his cheek. “Nothing. I just… it’s nothing.”

_ If I don't say it out loud, maybe it won't happen. _

So instead, he asked, “J, can you give me a detailed satellite map of the area where Steve went down? I need to make sure I know where all the damn booby traps are. Use our own SI satellite, I don't trust any of SHIELD’s at the moment.”

“Indeed, sir. However, it will take approximately three hours before the satellite is in range, and another eight or so to formulate the map.”

Tony gave a nod. That should be enough time to arrange for Bruce to stay with Peter, as he was the only other team member currently in the Tower. Barton and Natasha had left on some super-secret mission shortly before Steve, something about trying to infiltrate and take down the Red Room, if Tony could remember correctly, and Thor was still offworld, trying to figure out what to do with his brother.

Bruce and Peter got along great, which was no shocker. All of Tony’s teammates pretty much fell for Peter the very moment they met him. Peter had even taken to calling them his auntie and uncles in the months since they’d all moved into the Tower, and Tony knew his boy would be safe in the care of the strongest creature on Earth if something— _ God forbid _ —were to happen.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said. “Just let me know as soon as you’ve got it.”

“I will indeed, sir.”

* * *

Steve flinched as another giant drop dripped from the ceiling of his prison cell, landing with a  _ splotch _ directly onto the centre of his forehead before rolling down to the tip of his nose. There it clung, as if for dear life, for around three seconds or so before finally dropping off, joining the growing puddle on the floor.

Which meant he had exactly thirty-three seconds before the next drop would appear. Not even long enough to attempt to unclench his limbs.

Of course, Steve was still—although only barely—coherent enough to remember that even if he had been able to relax his arms and legs, the electrodes currently attached to all of his pulse points would activate, sending more of the burning hot pain shooting throughout his body. The pain that would then cause him to attempt to contort away from the source, which—of course—only made the pain that much worse.

It had been like that for weeks now. A never-ending cycle of various tortures that, according to Doctor List, were meant to thoroughly test all of Steve’s serum-induced abilities. Withdrawing over half of the blood in his body to see how quickly he could replenish the lost volume. Stimulating his muscles almost to their breaking point to quantify his strength. Testing how much pain Steve could endure before he completely lost consciousness. And all the while, the constant groaning noise of the sinking airplane played on a continuous loop, keeping Steve’s nerves constantly at their fraying point.

The worst though, the absolute  _ worst, _ was when they set the temperature inside his cell so low that Steve literally felt his blood crystallising in his veins, felt his lungs coating with the microscopic layer of ice that he’d experienced right before he drowned in the freezing Arctic water.

The  _ drip, drip, drip  _ of the ice-turned-condensation from the ceiling that always followed the subsequent rise in temperature was a very,  _ very  _ close second. Especially since the water, or whatever liquid it was, was almost gelatinous in texture, and tasted like salt mixed with sulfur, which stung like the dickens as it slid its way down Steve’s skin.

Definitely incentive for Steve to not let it anywhere near his mouth again. His throat was already so raw from trying to suppress his screams of agony—and from those that still managed to escape—that it felt like it had been attacked by a cheese grater, while his mouth felt like it had been coated with a thick layer of dry ice, both burning hot and freezing cold at the same time.

Another drop fell from the ceiling, plopping right in the same spot as the last one. Steve pursed his lips, squeezing his eyes closed as it followed the very same path and fighting against the almost overwhelming urge to scream. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe, pulling the repressed memories of his childhood asthma attacks right up to the forefront of his mind. Any disruption in Steve’s ability to easily breathe had never failed to cause him to panic, something Tony had managed to discover very early on in their relationship.

_ Tony,  _ Steve thought, as tears welled in his eyes. He’d been thinking a lot about his beloved fella in the days—weeks—that he'd been held captive. Peter as well, the sweet, precious boy who completely melted Steve’s heart every single time he called him Papa. Back in his own time, Steve had never believed he'd be so lucky as to find someone to love, and to be loved in return. Men weren’t allowed to love other men in the early twentieth century, or at least not anywhere that was considered remotely respectable. The Army was even worse, with the constant threat of dishonourable discharge or even court-martial over even the suspicion of a soldier being anything other than heterosexual. Before his ill-fated flight on the  _ Valkyrie, _ Steve had resigned himself to either being alone for his entire life, or the long-shot of finding a woman who would agree to marry him knowing full well that Steve couldn't truly love her.

The elation he had felt when Peter had explained that in the twenty-first century men were not only allowed to love other men, but that they could even marry if they wanted, and adopt children, was almost too good to be true.

And the months since then, despite Steve’s abject culture shock at how fast things moved now, had been the absolute happiest of Steve’s life. Falling in love with Tony and Peter had breathed a life into Steve that he'd never dared to dream was possible, and now… 

_ Now— _

He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.

Unable to contain it, a single tear escaped from his eye, snaking its way down his cheek before landing into the same puddle on the floor. Would he ever see his best guy again, to propose to him with the ring hidden inside his uniform? Would he ever see Peter again, the boy he’d meant to adopt? Who thought of Steve as his second father?

The way things were going, he highly doubted it.

Closing his eyes, Steve tried to conjure up an image of his beloved boys, imagining what they were doing. Knowing Tony, he was probably holed up in his lab, running himself ragged with trying to find him. Another tear escaped down Steve’s cheek as he imagined his beloved going mad with worry, refusing to eat or sleep as he poured over various documents and maps. Based on what he could remember, he didn't believe that HYDRA had moved him, but since the area was so heavily lined with booby traps, traps that HYDRA could turn off and on at will, according to a conversation Steve overheard shortly after he was taken prisoner, then he knew it would be very, very difficult for anyone to fight their way through the maze.

Even someone as reckless and stubborn as Tony.

It didn't matter, though. If Steve was going to die, at least he could find peace in the knowledge that he was loved, and loved fiercely.

Because, as much as he was trying to fight against it, there was little doubt in Steve’s mind that he was going to die. Oh, he would hold out for as long as he possibly could—he was Steve Rogers, after all—but death would eventually still come. Either through hunger, thirst, exposure, or overwhelming panic, death would still come.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

“But, Dad, are you absolutely  _ sure  _ it’s a good idea for you to go in there alone?” Peter pleaded as Tony went over his supply list one final time. He was so tired and frantic that he didn't trust himself not to forget something. “‘Cause Papa went in alone, and he—”

“Papa didn't have my tech, buddy,” Tony cut in. “Which includes a detailed layout of the entire area, and IR markers of all the booby traps HYDRA placed around it. I’m gonna be just fine.”

“Yeah, but if they find out that you're coming, what’s to stop them from moving the traps around?” Peter asked, his high-pitched, frightened voice punching holes in Tony’s already battered heart. “Daddy,  _ please! _ Why can’t Uncle Bruce just go with you?”

With a sigh, Tony set down the thermal blanket he was folding, placing both hands on his son’s shoulders. The last few months had seen Peter grow at least eight centimetres, and while he still had the round cheeks and sweet face of a little kid, Tony knew it was only a matter of time before that started to change.

His little boy was growing up, right before Tony’s eyes. And Tony was nowhere near ready for it.

“Buddy, you know why Uncle Bruce can’t come with me, right?” he said gently. “This mission relies on stealth, and we all know that Hulk is the very antithesis of stealth.”

“But—!”

“And, you also know that both Papa and I would want our strongest teammate guarding you instead of trying to rescue one of us,” Tony added. “‘Cause we both know that you're more important than either one of us.”

“But I’m not to me, Dad!” Peter said, his huge brown eyes filling with tears. “Please! Pepper and Happy can watch me just fine, and—”

“Nope,” Tony said, raising his hand. “Pete, this is not up for discussion. End of story.”

Peter’s skinny shoulders slumped. “Fine. Just…”

“I promise I’m gonna be careful, buddy,” Tony said. He pulled his boy into a tight hug, breathing in the green apple scent of his wild curly hair. “And I’m gonna find him, okay? I’m gonna bring Papa home.”

“Promise?” Peter said, muffled against Tony’s shoulder. “I miss him, Dad. I miss him so much!”

Tony’s throat tightened as he pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “I miss him too, buddy. And yeah, I promise.”

Sniffing, Peter gave him a nod. “Uh huh.”

“That’s my boy,” Tony said with a slight smile. “Now, go on and get your school stuff, yeah? It’s almost time to go.”

With another nod, Peter shuffled off to his room to collect his backpack and jacket. Tony’s plan was to bring Peter to school, then take off from the Tower as soon as he returned. His Mark VIII suit, fresh off of JARVIS’s assembly line, was already waiting for him in his lab, along with the detachable case filled with blankets, food, water, and rudimentary medical supplies.

And Tony was hoping against hope that Steve wouldn’t need anything more than that.

_ Oh God,  _ Tony thought as he gripped Steve’s dog tags through his shirt.  _ Please, don't let him— _

Nope. He couldn't afford to think like that. For Peter’s sake, he had to try and stay as optimistic as possible.

“I’m ready, Dad,” Peter said as he appeared back in the lab’s doorway. “We should get going.”

Tony nodded, swallowing against the knot in his throat. “Sounds good, bud.”

Tony and Peter were silent for the fifteen-minute drive to school, both lost in their own thoughts and worries for the man they knew they were no longer complete without.

“I love you, bud,” Tony said once they pulled into the school’s parking lot. He drew Peter in for a quick hug, squeezing him as tightly as he dared. “You try and have a good day today, yeah?”

“Not likely,” Peter muttered as he lifted his head. “Just… bring him home, Dad, okay?”

Tony’s lower lip shook as he cupped his son’s cheek. “I will, bud. Be good for Uncle Bruce, okay? No making me look bad.”

The corners of Peter’s lips curled into the slightest of smiles. “Fat chance. Love you too.”

The drive back to the Tower, and Tony’s imminent departure, seemed to take both forever and no time at all, his mind whirring with last-minute details interspersed with pleas that he would find Steve at least somewhat intact.

“All right, honey,” he said once he’d suited up, the case of emergency supplies secured to his back. “Just hold on for a bit longer, okay?”

“I’m coming for you.”

* * *

_ My name is Steven Grant Rogers. I was born on July the fourth, nineteen hundred and eighteen. I am the son of Joseph and Sarah Rogers. _

_ I’m in love with Tony Stark. I’m going to ask him to marry me. _

_ His son, Peter, calls me Papa.  _

_ I'm a prisoner of HYDRA, but I can't forget who I am. _

_ I am Steve Rogers. _

No longer aware of the passage of time, aided in large part by the fact that there was no window to the outside in his cell, Steve could only repeat his mantra over and over again in the slim hopes it would help keep him sane enough to survive just a bit longer. In the beginning he’d made an attempt to use his heart and respiratory rates as a way of keeping time, but since they had been fluctuating so wildly due to the various tortures, he quickly realised that his muddled mind would not be able to keep track of much.

As it was, he was to the point now where he could barely stay awake longer than a couple of minutes before slipping into a kind of semi-doze, snapping awake again every time the pain crescendoed.

And besides all of that was the constant groaning noise, which Steve would’ve sworn had grown even louder just in the last few days, slicing through the constant sound of blood rushing past his ears and straight into his pain centre.

It was a sick sort of irony for him to have to die listening to the exact same noise twice, but then again, he supposed he couldn't expect HYDRA to have any sense of remorse.

The organisation was purely without conscience, furthering their agenda of worldwide chaos their only concern. They didn't care about people.

Especially him.

Breathing in a shuddering breath, not so easy when he literally couldn't move, Steve forced his thoughts back to Tony and Peter. His and Tony’s first date, at the old Irish pub in Brooklyn that was almost as old as he was. The first time he took Peter to a baseball game, and the first time they all cooked a meal together at the Tower, like a real family.

The first time he and Tony made love. Even now, in his deplorable condition, Steve felt his cheeks flush hot at the memory of Tony’s gorgeous olive skin pressed against his, the feel of his hand and lips as they slid and kissed across his body. It had been Steve’s first time, but also a first time of sorts for Tony, as he had confessed afterwards, during their post-coital cuddles, that while he’d had sex many times before, that was the first time he had ever made love.

And that Tony hadn't realised what the difference was until then.

_ Oh, Tony, _ he thought, suppressing a shiver. The temperature in his cell had been lowered again several hours ago, and Steve was rapidly reaching the point where he no longer had the strength to even shiver, which he knew likely meant the point of no return.  _ Sweetheart, I hope you know how happy you and Peter have made me, and how much I love you both. _

_ Please, no matter what happens, don't ever forget that. _

* * *

“You are now approaching the outer borders of the area, sir,” JARVIS said over the wind whizzing across Tony’s helmet. “I would therefore advise reducing your speed.”

“Copy that, J,” Tony said. A second later he slowed to a subsonic speed, grateful for the lack of  _ boom _ that always preceded his going supersonic. “Activate infrared.”

“Activating now,” JARVIS replied. Tony blinked as his HUD transformed into what looked like one of Peter’s video game levels, with the various booby traps—of which there literally had to be hundreds—outlined in red.

“You got my course plotted?” Tony asked, swallowing hard. While the satellite sweeps hadn't picked up anything that would have indicated a possible projectile or surface-to-air missile configuration, Tony knew that he couldn’t put anything past HYDRA.

“Indeed I do, sir,” answered JARVIS. “Please be advised, it may resemble a kind of carnival ride.”

“That’s no biggie,” stated Tony. He’d always had an iron-like stomach, made even tougher since he became Iron Man. “Just get me there.”

But he’d no sooner given the order when the very surface-to-air missile he’d been hoping didn't exist suddenly launched from a clump of dense evergreens, heading straight for him. Tony immediately swerved, avoiding the missile just as another launched from a spot several metres away.

“Goddamnit, JARVIS!” he swore as he swerved again, not even chancing a look back as three more launched from various peaks. “I thought there weren’t supposed to be any projectiles!”

“It would appear that the satellite data is incomplete, sir!” JARVIS responded, just as Tony slammed to a stop, grunting as one of the missiles passed so closely in front of him that he felt the heat from its propulsion system.

“Oh, ya think?” he snapped as he took off again, dodging missiles in a manner that reminded him of his initial fruitless flight up Loki’s portal. “All right, can you give me an estimate of how many of these damn things are left?”

“Calculating! Please stand by!”

Tony rolled his eyes, grunting as he avoided yet another too-close missile. “Well, calculate faster!”

“Unless I’m mistaken, sir, there are only three missiles remaining,” JARVIS said just as another missile launched from a peak about two hundred metres away. “Make that two.”

“Ha, ha, J,” Tony grumbled as he dove down, closer to the tree line so the missiles could no longer easily reach him. It would put him in more danger of encountering something else, but at least he’d be out of range of the goddamn missiles.

“All right, that’s better,” he said as he skimmed along the tops of the evergreens. “How close are we to the bunker?”

“Approximately twenty more kilometres, sir. But please be advised that there are—”

JARVIS was cut off as several missiles all took off at once, presumably from around the bunker. Tony swore as he dodged and swerved, dipping even further below the treeline in an attempt to escape the onslaught.

“You were saying, J?” he said, grimacing at the ear-splitting noise of tree branches scraping across his armour, only slightly less awful than fingernails on a chalkboard.

“I do believe it would be fruitless to make any further predictions until we have arrived at the bunker, sir.” 

“Yeah, that’s probably smart.” Tony breathed out a slight sigh of relief as the bunker came into view, a large, shit-brown building that looked like one of the Sandcrawlers from Star Wars.

“Remind me to tell Pete about this later,” Tony muttered as he slowed, carefully scanning the area around the bunker. A moat, probably ten or fifteen metres wide, completely surrounded the thing, and while it was likely frozen over due to the extreme cold in the area, given everything Tony had seen so far, it was also likely rigged with more booby traps.

“See anything nasty down in that circle of ice, J?”

“Not directly inside the ice, sir, but I am reading several armed guards just inside the perimeter of the moat. I would advise caution on your approach.”

“Oh, you know me,” Tony said. “I’m the epitome of caution.”

“Mmm,” muttered JARVIS. “Indeed.”

Repulsors at the ready, Tony slowed even further until he was hovering a few metres below the treeline, waiting for the first guard to notice him.

“C’mon, you bastards,” he growled. “C’mon and get me, I fucking dare you!” He let out a gleeful grin as his HUD focused in on the guard raising his rifle, taking him out with a single blast to the chest and sending him careening into the side of the bunker.

“That’s right!” Tony said triumphantly as he blasted away the second guard. “No one messes with my man!”

_ No one. _

* * *

_ The air was dry and crisp, his breath coming in little puffs of white as he scampered through the tall trees, careful to stay out of the sightline of the many trucks transporting… well… whatever they were transporting. It didn't really matter what they were hauling. All that mattered was rescuing the soldiers that HYDRA had taken hostage. _

_ Shivering, Steve slammed his shield against the lock on the heavy metal door, swinging it open to reveal what appeared to be a massive warehouse. Rows and rows of tanks and trucks mounted with massive missiles and bombs, the likes of which Steve had never before seen, but certainly deadlier than anything the Germans had used up to that point. _

_ “This must be it,” he said under his breath, ducking down between two of the trucks as a group of marching soldiers approached. Steve squinted as they went by, his jaw clenching as he saw the HYDRA symbols sewed onto the sleeves of their uniforms. _

_ He was definitely in the right place. _

_ With a quick glance around, Steve gripped his shield, moving through the lines of trucks and tanks until he reached the end. Then he sucked in a deep breath before taking off in a dead sprint towards what he was hoping led to the area of the bunker where the prisoners were being held. _

_ Thankfully, he was right. _

_ Unfortunately, though, he discovered not even a second later that his sprint across the warehouse hadn’t gone quite as unnoticed as he’d hoped. Steve barely had time to raise his shield before the first shower of bullets began raining down around him, forcing him to crouch under his shield as he dodged and swerved towards the barred cells holding the hundreds of men suspected to be imprisoned there. _

_ “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” he urged the weary, battle worn soldiers as he smashed away the locks to their cells. “We gotta get out of here!” _

_ “Oh, yeah?” one soldier responded, his face etched in disbelief. “And who the hell are you?” _

_ “Me?” said Steve. “I’m Captain America.” _

Steve jerked awake, a sharp groan ripping from his throat as he spit a mouthful of blood all over the front of his filthy uniform. His lips were cracked in multiple places, stinging from the blood, tears, and gelatinous liquid that dripped mercilessly from the de-icing ceiling. His mind was so gone now he could barely discern reality from fantasy, murky from pain, grief, and his never-ending hunger and thirst; his chest hurt so badly that he could breathe only in shallow gasps, and his limbs were so frozen that he could no longer feel them.

_ This is going to be how I end,  _ he thought, willing himself to return to his dream, the place where he had beaten back HYDRA.

Where he had won.

_ “If you run, they’ll never let you stop. But if you get up, keep fighting, well… they can’t say no forever, right?”  _ Steve had said to Peggy Carter on the way to his serum procedure. 

But apparently, he had been wrong.

HYDRA, it seemed, was even more stubborn than him.

Running his dry, heavy tongue across his cracked lips, Steve gave himself back into his fatigue, reentering his dreamlike state just as the HYDRA weapons began firing across the warehouse.

_ “Run!” Steve attempted to scream, watching in horror as the dozens of soldiers he had rescued only moments ago got cut down by the powerful, beam-like HYDRA weapons. “Oh God, why?” _

_ He had gone there to try and rescue them, and all he’d done was make things worse. _

_ Some hero he was. _

_ Crouching down behind his shield on the freezing concrete floor, Steve curled into a tight ball, gritting his teeth as the weapons’ fire grew louder and louder, punctuated by terrified screams and cries and the sound of bodies thudding against walls and the floor. He flinched with each thud, curling tighter and tighter into himself as he whimpered in fear. _

_ He had failed them. _

_ “Steve,” he suddenly heard, a voice that was both familiar and very out of place. “Steve, honey, wake up. We’ve gotta go.” _

_ But Steve only shook his head. It couldn't be true, what he was hearing. _

_ “No,” he managed to choke out, shaking his head. “Go away. Leave me. I’m not—I’m not—” _

_ I’m not worth it. Not anymore. _

_ “Uh, no way in hell, hon,” the voice said as another weapon fired, one so loud it seemed like it was right inside Steve’s head. “I’m getting you out of here.” _

The jarring movement of being hoisted by his armpits by a pair of cold, smooth hands forced him back to consciousness, and he blinked his eyes open, shuddering as they strained to focus in on the face looking down at him.

It couldn't be. 

But it was.

“T-t-tony?” he stuttered, not quite daring to believe what he was seeing. With the last dram of his strength, Steve raised his hand, pushing his fingertips against the face of his beloved.

“Is it—is it—?”

“You bet your ass it is, honey,” Tony said firmly. He pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek. “You think you can hold onto me? Those HYDRA fuckers are still coming, so I’m gonna have to fly us outta here at top speed.”

“L-language,” Steve quipped with the slightest hint of a smile, ignoring the stinging pain in his cracked lips as Tony's jaw twitched. 

“You really are something,” he said, thick with emotion. “You know that, right?”

“Y-yes. I d-do,” Steve whispered, flinching as a burst of machine gunfire sounded a few metres away.

“Yeah,” Tony said, flicking his eyes towards the window in Steve’s cell. “And on that note, what do you say we blow this popsicle stand, yeah?” He wrapped Steve’s arms around his neck, urging Steve to climb onto his armoured feet as his faceplate closed over his face. “You trust me, right, hon?”

“I d-do,” answered Steve. “Always.”

“Good. Now, hold on tight.”

* * *

“Steve? No, no, now’s not the time to be giving up!” Tony yelped as he roared to a stop outside of the tiny, no-frills cabin. Fury had given him a list of SHIELD safe houses before he had left, and while this one wasn’t Tony’s first choice given its closer proximity to the HYDRA prison, Steve was far too fragile for Tony to risk flying on to the next one without at least warming him up first. He had stopped shivering before they’d even made it past the last of the booby traps, and was now barely conscious, scaring Tony half to death.

“Honey?” he said as he laid Steve on the short patio outside of the front door, his belly swooping as he looked Steve over. His skin was the sickly greyish colour of melted wax, his lips the scariest shade of blue Tony had ever seen, and his chest was barely moving to breathe. “C’mon, honey, you just gotta hold on for like two more minutes, okay?” He tapped Steve across his cheek, his heart jumping in relief when Steve softly groaned. “Okay, maybe more like three minutes, but I promise no more than that. Can ya do that for me, honey? Please?”

With another groan, Steve’s eyes opened to slits, his throat working as he attempted to swallow. “I—I w-will.”

“That’s my man,” Tony murmured as he gathered Steve up again and kicked open the front door, quickly scanning the sparsely furnished cabin for the bathroom.

“All right, that’s it,” he said as he eased Steve down into the ugly-as-hell bathtub. The entire bathroom was hideous, painted in mint green and lemon yellow as if it were straight out of a late sixties sitcom, but the water was hot and had decent enough pressure, which at the moment was all Tony really cared about.

“Okay, so I know this place is uglier than sin, but I promise we won't have to stay here long,” he said once he got the water going. Stepping out of his armour, Tony got to work on Steve’s boots, then his pants, massaging his ice-cold feet and legs for a couple minutes before placing them carefully in the water. “Just long enough to get you warmed up enough to get home.”

Steve attempted a nod, hissing as the warm water began lapping against his frozen lower limbs. Once he started to relax, Tony went to work on the rest of Steve’s uniform, undoing all of the hidden zippers and buttons as he peeled the filthy, ratty fabric from his boyfriend’s chest. He had to stifle a gasp at how skinny Steve had become during his captivity, his eyes narrowing as he imagined hunting down every single one of the assholes who did this, and ripping their arms off.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey. You're gonna be okay,” he murmured as he tossed the destroyed uniform somewhere behind him. Steve was at least shivering again, which Tony chose to interpret as a good thing as he knelt next to the bathtub, cupping some water in his hands to trail down Steve’s pale chest. He had just cupped a second palmful when Steve’s eyes suddenly shot open and he grabbed onto Tony’s wrist, trying desperately to speak.

“T-tony—T-tony—!” he rasped, his teeth audibly chattering. “T-tony, I—!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tony soothed as he brought Steve’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. “Honey, it’s okay! I’m here, yeah? I’m right in front of you.”

Steve bobbed his head, his matted hair falling in front of his eyes. “I kn-know,” he whispered as tears welled in his eyes, made even bluer by the godawful green tile covering the walls. “I j-just—I w-want—I w-want—”

Tony brought his fingers to Steve’s lips, gently shushing him. “Honey, I promise it’s gonna be okay. As soon as we get cleaned up, we’re gonna be out of here, all right? Get back home? Pete can’t wait to see you, hon. You know he’s been worried sick!”

“Yes,” Steve said. He tipped his head back, pressing Tony’s palm against his chest, over his heart. “It’s j-just… m-my uniform. You can’t—you can’t—”

Tony’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “Don't you worry, honey. First chance I get, I’m gonna burn that thing to shreds.”

“No!” Steve exclaimed, his eyes popping wide open again. “No, you—you c-can't! P-promise m-me that you w-won’t!”

“Okay, okay, I won't burn it!” Tony said quickly, even though he had no earthly clue why in the hell Steve would want to keep it. “Um… can you tell me why?”

Steve’s pale face blanched even more, his hand tightly holding Tony’s. “Th-there’s s-something in there that’s v-very important. That I n-need to g-get out.”

“Ah huh,” Tony said with a confused nod. He knew Steve liked to keep a small sketchbook and pencil tucked in his uniform, but he couldn't imagine him freaking out over something innocuous like that. “Okay, hon. Once we get you warmed up enough and get some food in you, we’ll get whatever it is out. Sound good?”

_ And then we’ll burn it. _

“Y-yes,” Steve rushed out, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Thank you, sw-sweetheart. I—I—”

“No, honey, please. You don't need to thank me. Just try and rest now, yeah? You’re still practically a solid block of ice, so—”

“C-come in here with m-me. P-please?” Steve cut in. He tugged on Tony’s hand, flicking his eyes down at the bathwater, which was now just above his waist height. “P-please? I need—I just need to f-feel you.”

Despite their crazy circumstances, Tony felt his cheeks flush. Even after almost a year together, he still wasn’t quite used to how much Steve loved him, and desired him. “Okay, honey,” he whispered. “Just give me a sec.”

Standing to his feet, Tony stripped out of his clothes, Steve’s dog tags tinkling against the arc reactor as he drew his shirt up over his head. Steve’s eyes lit up at the sight of them, his cracked lips attempting to curl into a smile.

“Y-you're w-wearing them?” he whispered as he reached a shaking hand towards Tony.

“Well, yeah. Ever since you put them on me,” Tony murmured. “They're a promise that you’ll always come back to me, right?”

Steve’s lower lip shook as he nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Damnit, honey, how many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to thank me?” Tony gently admonished. He tapped Steve’s shoulder, carefully sliding him forward in the tub so he could slip in behind him. Then he guided Steve’s back to rest against his chest, careful to avoid pressing on the arc reactor, and buried his nose in Steve’s hair, trying—and failing—to keep his tears contained.

If he had lost Steve. If he had been forced to fly back home and tell his son that they had lost his papa… well… Tony was certain he would rather do just about anything else.

“Christ, Steve,” he whispered, shuddering as Steve turned his head, tucking it securely under Tony’s chin as his fingers curled around Tony’s arm. “I can’t believe we almost lost you.”

“Mmm,” Steve mumbled. His shivers were finally lessening in intensity, his skin starting to regain a bit of its colour. “I guess I’m j-just too st-stubborn to get r-rid of that easily.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we can thank Dr Erskine for that, hmm?” Tony said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, ignoring his filthy hair. “Just rest now, hon. We’re almost there.”

They remained in the tub for hours, until the water turned chilly, refilling it twice with hotter water before Steve finally felt strong enough for Tony to actually clean him. As he washed the sweat, dirt, and grime from his boyfriend’s body and hair and shaved the ratty whiskers from his cheeks and chin, Steve’s eyes never left Tony’s face, as if he was afraid that if he looked away, Tony might disappear.

“There,” Tony said as he patted Steve’s freshly-shaven face with a towel. Steve had always hated whiskers, saying that they made his skin itch “Feel better?”

“Yes,” whispered Steve. “Thank you.”

Tony huffed, tilting his head. “Honey, how many times have I told you that you don't have to thank—”

He was cut off as Steve curled his fingers around the back of Tony’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Tony nearly sobbed as Steve’s still-healing lips met his, reaching to cup Steve’s cheeks in his hands.

He had come so close, so  _ fucking  _ close to losing Steve forever.

“I know I don't have to,” Steve murmured once they broke apart, their foreheads pressed together. “But I’m still going to. So you had better just get used to it.”

Tony’s lips twitched into a soft smile. “All right, Mr Stubborn Soldier. But this is the last time you're going on a mission without me, you got that? From now on, we go together or not at all, is that understood? Together.”

Steve’s blue eyes were twinkling as he nodded. “Yes, sir. Together.”


	4. Epilogue

Steve paced nervously in the living room of the penthouse, waiting for Tony and Peter to join him. They were heading out to dinner to celebrate a late anniversary of Steve and Tony’s first date, but, if Steve had his way, this was going to be far, far more than just a simple celebratory dinner.

This was going to be when he proposed, first to Peter, and then to Tony, and while intellectually he knew that the chances of either of them turning down his proposals were slim, a small, very nervous part of him still believed that they might say no.

“We’re almost done, hon!” Tony called from Peter’s bedroom. “Took the kid awhile to find a pair of pants that were long enough.”

“Well, then it sounds like we might need to go do some shopping, right?” Steve replied.

“Maybe this weekend, Papa?” Peter asked as he and Tony stepped into the living room. Steve’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of them, his two beloved boys that looked and acted so much alike, and who he loved beyond reason.

And even now, over three months later, it was still hard for him to admit just how close he had come to never seeing them again.

“Papa?” Peter asked again, his sweet face etched in concern. “Are you okay?”

Steve quickly cleared his throat. “Yeah, little guy, I’m fine. You just look so… grown up tonight.”

“No kidding,” Tony playfully grumbled. “Maybe you can tell the kid to quit growing so damn fast, hmm? ‘Cause he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

“Well,” Steve said with a chuckle. “I’m not sure he’ll listen to me any better, but I am definitely not above trying.” He reached for Tony’s hand, placing his other hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Shall we?”

Tony grinned, sending a burst of warmth across Steve’s chest as he squeezed their intertwined fingers. “We shall.”

The ride to the pub was quiet, with Steve navigating the busy New York streets in the pickup truck that Tony had bought for him for his birthday. Every couple minutes Steve would pat first his jacket pocket, then his left jeans pocket, making sure that the documents and ring he had so carefully tucked inside hadn't suddenly up and vanished.

“You doing okay, hon?” Tony asked as Steve turned onto the final street, searching for a place to park.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve asked, apparently just a bit too quickly when Tony frowned.

“Well, I don't know,” Tony said, shrugging. “You're just acting kinda… odd.”

“I’m sorry. I don't mean to,” said Steve. Parking the truck, he hurried around to Tony’s side, opening his and Peter’s doors. “I’m just really happy to be with my family tonight, is all.”

“Mmm. Okay,” Tony said warily. As soon as they entered the rather noisy pub, he leaned closer, whispering, “Seriously, hon. If you're not feeling up to this tonight, we can always—”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I promise,” Steve insisted. “Just feeling a bit… sentimental, I guess.”

Tony shot him the goofy, lopsided grin that he adored. “Well, I can’t say that I don't love that sentimental streak you tend to have,” he said. “Just as long as it’s the happy kind.”

“This is definitely the happy kind,” Steve assured him as they arrived at their table. He had called the pub the day before, requesting that they reserve the very same table he and Tony had sat at the year before. The manager had been only too happy to accommodate him, which was a big weight off of Steve’s shoulders as the table was in the very back corner of the pub, so they could have at least some semblance of privacy.

All the better for Steve to ask the two most important questions he had ever asked in his entire life.

Thankfully, after a few fits and starts, the dinner conversation flowed rather easily, led mainly by Peter. Steve absolutely loved how with just one or two questions about one of his favourite things, Peter could literally talk for hours. Which he did, all while being completely oblivious to Steve’s underlying nervousness. Tony wasn’t quite as oblivious, as he had been forced to witness yet another of Steve’s bad dreams just the night before, but he at least kept his concerns to himself while they enjoyed their meal, laughing at Peter’s exaggerated stories about his classmates blowing stuff up in chemistry lab and boasting about how cool it was that he had a papa who had literally lived through the history he was currently studying.

The fact that Steve was apparently living through history in the making yet again was never far from his mind. Discovering that HYDRA had been embedded inside SHIELD ever since the late 1940s, and had managed to trickle down into every single part of the organisation had led to several changes that Steve was still getting accustomed to.

Not the least of which were Director Fury’s resignation, which had been demanded by the President, and also the complete separation of the Avengers from SHIELD. Steve was now recognised as the official leader of the Avengers by the U.S. Government, and as such, had been asked by the President to ensure that any and all traces of HYDRA were eliminated from Earth.

A challenge that Steve had readily accepted. His ongoing mission during the war had always been to rid the world of HYDRA, and now, seventy years later, he and his team were more than ready to see it through. He, with Tony’s help, had already commandeered all of the intelligence from his former bunker prison, including a complete copy of HYDRA’s New Order Manifesto that had been left behind by none other than Arnim Zola himself.

They also had begun identifying the various questionable SHIELD installations across the globe, with Steve already putting together plans to raid them once Thor, Clint, and Natasha all returned from their other assignments.

But that was a conversation for another time. On this night, Steve had far more important things to take care of.

“So, Peter, I have something very important that I need to ask you,” Steve said once they had all received their dessert orders. He swallowed hard, trying to get his thudding heart under control as Peter looked up at him with his huge, innocent eyes that were so much like his father’s, waiting patiently.

“Yeah, Papa?” Peter asked when Steve paused, taking a deep breath. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, little guy, nothing’s wrong,” Steve said. “I just—” He broke off, pulling the adoption documents the lawyer had sent to him before he’d left on his ill-fated mission out of his jacket pocket. He placed them on the table, smoothing out the wrinkles as Tony looked on, a proud, encouraging smile on his face.

“I had—I had these prepared before—before I left on the mission, and I just—” Steve paused again, clearing his throat as Peter glanced down at the first page, his eyebrows disappearing under his curls as he read it.

“Papa?” he said, his sweet voice laced with such awe and wonder that tears instantly welled in Steve’s eyes, spilling down his cheeks before he even knew they were there. “Is this—? Are you—?”

“That’s exactly what this is, little guy,” Steve choked out. He reached for Peter’s hand across the table, squeezing it gently. “I know you already call me Papa, but I was hoping… well… I’d just really love to make it official, and—”

“Yes!” Peter exclaimed, launching himself out of his chair and right into Steve’s arms so fast that Steve barely had time to catch him. Then he buried his face in Steve’s shoulder, his skinny body shaking with happy sobs. “Yes, Papa,” he said. “I _want_ that. I really, really do!”

“Oh, thank you,” Steve whispered as he patted Peter’s back, the boy he was proud to call his son. “Thank you, little guy. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Papa,” answered Peter. He raised his head, smiling widely as he swiped a tear from his cheek. “This is the best thing ever.”

“Well… almost,” Steve said, his belly once again swooping with nervousness. Situating Peter on his lap, he dug into his jeans pocket, pulling out Tony’s ring. Then he reached for Tony’s hand, looking deep into his startled fella’s eyes.

“I know a family is still a family even if the parents aren’t married,” he began. “But, Tony, if it’s okay with you, I would really love it if you would do me the honour of becoming my husband. I love you, and I love this family that we’ve built together, and I want it to be official.”

Tony’s lower lip was trembling as his eyes flicked from his and Steve’s joined hands to the titanium ring etched in thin stripes of blue and red, sparkling in the dim light of the pub.

“Steve,” he started. “Christ, honey, I’m—I’m—”

“Oh, c’mon, Dad, just say yes!” Peter exclaimed. “You know you want to!”

Tony sputtered out a laugh, his beautiful brown eyes glassy as they locked with Steve’s. “You're seriously the best thing to ever happen to us, so… how in the hell could I possibly say no?”

Steve’s heart slammed up against his ribcage as he held his breath. “So… is that a yes?”

“Of course it is!” Tony rasped. “Good God, Steve, did you honestly think I’d say no?”

Steve breathed out a huge sigh of relief. “Well, I guess you can never be sure,” he said as he carefully slid the ring onto Tony’s left ring finger. As soon as it was in place, Tony lifted his hand, showing it to Peter.

“Think it’ll do, bud?” he asked, tossing Steve a conspiratorial wink.

“Yep. It’ll do,” Peter said happily. He tipped his head against Steve’s shoulder, the massive ice cream sundae he’d ordered for dessert apparently forgotten. “This is the happiest night, isn’t it, Papa?”

“It sure is, little guy, Steve said as he hugged Peter close. Because it was. Against all odds, Steve had not only managed to survive being frozen, _twice_ , but had also found the best partner and son a man could possibly ask for.

“I am the luckiest guy in the entire world,” he added. He brought Tony’s hand to his lips, kissing it over the ring. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Tony gave an exaggerated sigh. “Now, honey, what have I told you about having to thank me? Whatever am I going to do with you?”

Steve grinned. He could definitely think of a few things Tony could do with him, beginning that very night once they tucked Peter into bed.

But first, he was going to enjoy the rest of his dinner with his fiancé—his _fiancé!_ —and his precious son. The family he’d never thought he would have, and now couldn't live without.

And now Steve knew that with his soon-to-be husband and son by his side, they could face whatever challenges life and work decided to throw at them.

_Together._

  
  


**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I can’t wait to hear what you think! Please don’t forget to hit that kudos button and leave me a comment! 💗


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